


Pediporta or Sapicone?

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Music Videos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mikey introduced them the consequences were not what he intended. Five times Mike and Gabe hooked up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pediporta or Sapicone?

~Love, gimme love, gimme love~  
Hot Mess knows to Kobra Kid the world boils down to two groups, Killjoys and Not Killjoys. There are three people he trusts to have his back, and Mess is not one of them. Hell, even Doctor Death Defying and Show Pony aren’t, and the Killjoys spend weeks at a time with them in the warehouse. He’s not exactly offended. Like he told Kobra, _so what, you got a crew? I got a crew too._ He wouldn’t trade Guy Ripley and Vicky-T and Drummerboy and Vincent Twice for anyone.

Still, he thinks Kobra Kid must trust him a bit. The Killjoys are a main power in the Zones right now, face on every Exterminate poster. They’re the celebrities of the wasteland, and that means everyone knows them. They use it for their own good, of course, it’s every man for themselves and it would be suicidally naive to think otherwise. But they also use their societal knowledge to hook up various rebels that can benefit each other. Kobra Kid keeps introducing him to other rebels, he wouldn’t do that if he suspected Mess was a BLI spy. They’re necessary in the Zones, they can be great pawns, but nobody is stupid enough to tell J-Beeb or HellKat anything they could use.

The latest guy is Shredicone. Kobra says he’s got great upper body strength, could help Guy learn how to not die horribly if his blaster runs out of juice. Mess doesn’t know much about him, neither does his crew, only that used to be with Bled Nitro. He doesn’t know if they had a falling out, or if they’re dead, but it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is if he can be useful.

Twenty minutes later, mouth on Mess’s cock, he’s sure Shredicone is. Sex isn’t rare in the Zones, but it doesn’t tend to come cheap. Orgasms are a commodity, asses, tits and mouths are all sellable services. That Shredicone is blowing him free shows he’s a good man. Good enough that Mess’ll offer to return the favour, or suggest one of his crew if tall and dark isn’t Shredicone’s type. Vincent will hardly mind. 

 

~Just one night couldn’t be so wrong~  
It’s easy to find a club to go to. What’s not easy is finding a place that can hold his attention for more than an hour. That’s why Mikey Way is one of the most accessed in his contact list. Mikey always knows where interesting shit is going down.

Of course, the major problem with that plan is Mikey falls somewhere between terrible and mind-numbingly horrendous at directions. Most evenings come with multiple texts asking for nearby landmarks. Tonight is no difference. Mike’s walked the block and there’s nothing, so he pulls out his phone. _there is no club on this street_.

Along with accurate directions, Mikey’s also incapable of texting more than six words at a time. It’s not a character limit thing, it’s just an odd character trait. Mike waits until the fourth time his phone beeps to check it again, and it beeps more as he’s reading.

_don’t be stupid_

_it’s a rave_

_it’s underground_

_go in the deli_

_there’s a tall guy_

_or maybe a short guy_

_tell them mikey invited you_

Mike shoves his phone back in his pocket and scans the street for a deli. If there is a party it’ll be great, Mikey’s only disappointed him a few times, but it’s possible he’s fucking with him. Way likes pranks, particularly when they involves someone setting up their own doom.

It’s not a prank. About halfway down the block is a small deli, entire pig carcass hanging in the window. There’s both a tall guy and a short guy, and they grin when he says Mikey sent him. The short one follows him down the stairs, taking off his white hat and jacket as he does. It’s crowded in the cellar, not a question of it being a fire code violation, even if it was legal to party in a store. The lights are flashing, a DJ in the corner is making the music pound, and there’s a cluster of people around what looks like a gambling table, though Mike can only get the smallest of glimpses of it.

Somewhere in the mess of bodies might be Mikey. It’s about an eighty percent chance he’s at the venue he’s recommended. Sometimes he’s out, stuffed to the brim with alcohol and balancing it with a whiff of coke, or rolling his eyes before buying some stranger’s supposedly ‘triple stacked’ E. And sometimes he stays home and plays video games or role playing games. Neither are Mike’s thing, but he volunteers at an animal shelter, and he knows a lot of guys that would give him shit for it. Everyone’s got their own things.

Whether Mikey’s here or not, Mike doesn’t plan on looking for him. He can handle his own night, so can Mikey, if they meet up later so be it. Right now more important things are going on. Like the hot tall guy that’s eyeing him, but keeps turning around to look at a woman with curly blond hair and a nice rack. It’s pretty clear some bi-curious guy is going after him to impress his girlfriend. Mike’ll take it, if the guy scrapes up enough balls to actually approach. He’s had worse.

 

~What will it take to show you that it’s not the life it seems~  
Gabe isn’t all that happy when his dad tells him of the change. Going to private school seems like it will suck, and not getting a choice is annoying. But to be fair he _knows_ public school sucks. _Might suck_ at least leaves a little bit of room for hope.

After a week’s worth of observation, his conclusion is that it’s not all that much different. The cafeteria food sucks, soggy french fries and sloppy Joes more liquid than meat -honestly, it’s enough to have him considering vegetarian- and sandwiches with wilted lettuce. The classes are for the most part boring, math is math anywhere in the state. Even though they’re all wearing uniforms the cliques abound, it’s not very hard to figure out who’s a football player and who’s a drama kid, and who’s a stoner. And unfortunately, there are still bullies, in the classic relationship of jocks and alt teens.

And then it happens. A group of alt kids go after a group of jocks, with croquet mallets, no less. It’s pretty damn amazing, Gabe almost wants to start a slow clap, or a round of the wave. Instead he goes with a way that won’t get him mocked or also beat up; he friends the one with inhaler one Facebook. It’s not the most detailed of profiles, no games or quiz results. It’s just a sidebar of photo albums, and a block of text for what music he likes. He’s got good taste in music, a mix of classic bands and local. Gabe doesn’t hold back from browsing the pictures, if Mikey didn’t want people to look he wouldn’t post them. Most of the pictures are some combination of seven teenage boys; Mikey and the four others that brawled, and two others that look like they would be good in a fight.

The cute one is tagged as Mike, and his profile is open enough that Gabe can send him a private message. It takes approximately thirty minutes from first Facebook contact to cybering on MSN. He doesn’t have a webcam but the words are almost as good, Mike’s got a filthy imagination. They’re enough to make him come and that’s all that matters. Tomorrow he’ll talk to him for real, and maybe by the end of the week he’ll have a boyfriend. That’ll be enough to piss dad off, to prove no matter where he is, he’s still going to be the same person.

 

~Stumbling but yeah, you’re still looking hella fine~  
When Mikey jams his hand into Mike’s pants, he lets him. For one, Mikey is pretty enough that he wouldn’t say no. For two, he doesn’t really have the aim to do something as difficult as pluck someone’s hand out of his pocket. It’s mildly disappointing when Mikey just pulls out his wallet and rifles through it. “You spent your cab fare on booze.”

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sorry he got smashed, being smashed is fun. He just doesn’t want Mikey mad at him.

“Whatever. I’m calling Cobra Cleaners, I have a membership hopefully I can get you a trial one.” Mikey gets busy talking on his phone, and it’s too hard to figure out who he’s talking to so Mike just busies himself with twirling the drawstring of his hoodie around his finger until the top goes all hard-dick purple. He doesn’t realise Mikey’s talking to him until there’s a hand on his shoulder. “I need to catch my bus. Your ride’ll be here in five minutes, just stay here.”

Mikey disappears and soon everything gets very boring. Other places have to be more interesting; it’s his duty to find those places. But the sidewalk keeps tilting, and when he tries to tilt with it it doesn’t like his initiative. The sidewalk wants to be superior, stupid thing.

Eventually it takes him down. Luckily there’s a whole group of people to help him stand up again. “Mike Pedicone?”

How do they know his name? What if they’re cops? He hopes they’re not cops. He probably couldn’t do too well on those pretending to be sober tests right now. “Do I need to say the alphabet backwards?” Nearly impossible, but at least he couldn’t do it sober either.

“Like you could,” the girl says, rolling her eyes. “We’re Cobra Cleaners, Mikey referred you. We’ve got your address, you’re going to hang out a bit, and then we’re going to take you home.”

Everyone in the truck is hot. But the driver is the hottest. Mike has to tell him to make sure he knows. The guy smiles, which is a good look for him, and asks Ryland to drive. A eight foot tall man switches places with the driver, and then he directs Mike to the back again.

“Some people would say I’m taking advantage of you. But I’ve learned shit doing this, and one of those things is drunk people like sex better than sober people. Do you want to have sex?”

“Yeah.” Of course he does, he wouldn’t have gone to the bar with Mikey if he didn’t want to hook up.

“If I wasn’t here would you jerk off?”

“Prob’ly?” It’ll probably be the first thing he does when he get home. That or drink some more vodka to keep the night going.

“So then I might as well lend a hand.” He appears to mean it literally, he grabs Mike’s dick. Mike doesn’t have a problem with it.

 

~The Road Goes On Forever~  
Back when they were both Jersey boys, Mikey never had to introduce anyone to Gabe, and Gabe never had to introduce anyone to him. They both knew anyone of importance.

Now it’s different. The world is bigger now. It’s not just twenty venues, and more basements than you can count, and sidewalks when you get kicked out for being underage, crowding the back door where you can still almost hear the riffs. They’ve both played six continents, and their cellphones are full of people the other doesn’t know. It’s kind of fucked, he still hasn’t met Nate. Gabe’s not in a better spot, he doesn’t know Mike. There’s nothing he can do about Nate right now, but he can make this better on his side. 

It’s a short introduction, Gabe’s never taken much more than a smile and an offer of a beer to give out his own grin. At least superficial Gabe doesn’t, and it’s unlikely Mike’ll matter enough to get to see underneath. Most of the time Mikey’s not allowed that either; it’s saved for people around at all times, like Pete. Mikey doesn’t blame him for it, when your insides are damaged the fewer shaking the package the better.

It’s three beers in when Gabe stretches himself over his long legs splayed over the middle cushion to grab Mike. Mikey can’t say he was expecting Gabe to kiss Mike, normally he only goes for the people he already knows are going to say yes. Then again, Mike’s hands are pushing up the hem of Gabe’s shirt, the yes is implied. Mikey will watch until he's invited. He knows his friends, but not well enough to know how far to go, physically and headspace both. It's better to hold off, just for now.


End file.
